That Immortal Yes
by Lady Bracknell
Summary: Much to his embarrassment, James' whole world has spun on a word, and he has no idea what to do when the one thing he thought he wanted is the one thing that’s made the ground feel shaky beneath his feet. JP/LE, RL/LE


**Disclaimer: I lay no claim to anything you recognise. That all belongs to JKR.**

**A/N: Written for the Tales of Slings, Arrows and Outrageous Fortune Challenge at Red and The Wolf, using the prompts: 'fret', and 'I was adored once too'. Intended to write fluff, didn't, will make it up to you later ;).**

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James stands with his head on the cold tiles, water cascading down his face, over his shoulders, down his back, no idea how long he's been in the shower.

His muscles ache. Partly it's Quidditch practice taking its toll, mostly it's something else, the memory of Lily's smile, crooked and coquettish as she said yes, thrilling; the kind of thrilling that terrified him and kept him up till gone three every night for a week.

He's counted down the days, then hours, and now he's here he wonders why it's not more reassuring that in twenty-four it'll all be over. Not that he wants it over, it's just this, this _feeling_, that he wants rid off, because his insides aren't his own, his mind isn't his own, and the world seems skewed on its axis, muted. At least this time tomorrow, he'll know; this gurgling... uncertainty will be gone, and whatever's in its place really can't be worse.

It strikes him as a bit ironic that Lily suddenly saying yes is the thing that's made everything dim and confusing, when he'd pictured a world filled with more colour and certainty once she was in it. Every time he thinks about it, tomorrow night, them, he just –

Everything fades, becomes too indistinct for him to grasp, too far away for him to understand.

It's not that he's nervous, more that he's petrified, like his very blood is running scared and every inch of him is on alert. He's kissed other girls, tossed his affection away casually, but this –

How's he supposed to tell her that she sets his soul on fire?

Is he supposed to tell her that at all?

He closes his eyes. Even if he doesn't tell her, up close she'll be able to see it on his face – he's sure of it, because it's not the kind of thing a person can hide. He thinks that's what's bothering him, the thought that he won't be able to enjoy being with her – finally – for fear of what he might be giving away, what she'll see when she looks at him, how big and scary that is when he's no idea if she feels the same, or if this is curiosity or even a joke on her part. All he's ever wanted is a chance, but now he has one, he almost thinks he'd rather she'd said no. At least he knew how to cope with that.

He knows it's just nerves. Not that that helps, and in fact he thinks it's a bit embarrassing that his whole world has spun on a word. He'd always thought it would be simpler than this, that it'd work like a potion or spell, everything coming together and magic as the result. He almost laughs at how cheesy that sounds, and yet that's what he'd imagined, how it would happen – he'd run into her in the corridor, be more charming, wittier, kinder, win her over, and then everything would fall into place. He'd suddenly be better than he was, for her, and everything would be all right.

But with one word –

How was it possible that one word could have changed so much, robbed him of his certainty, his ability to sleep, his ability to _eat_? How was it that one word had made the world feel shaky underneath his feet, as if he couldn't even be sure of the ground he walked on?

He stands up, shakes the water out of his hair and reminds himself that words are powerful things – there are plenty of spells that should have taught him that.

He reaches for his wand and turns off the water, because if he stays any longer Sirius'll come looking, afraid he's drowned, and that's the last thing he needs because Sirius is full of enthusiasm and he can't stand it. He Summons a towel, dries himself off, feeling weary and wide awake at the same time, as he has done every night since she uttered that immortal yes.

The room's cold when he gets there, dark – Sirius is leaning out of the window, smoking and watching the owls as they swoop away towards the Forest, and Peter is already asleep, snoring lightly. Remus is sitting up, frowning at his homework, although after a minute he sighs, pushes it away and rests his head back against the wall.

Ignoring the small talk, James climbs into bed, stares at the ceiling, hears the window close and Sirius shuffle, extinguish the last of the lights. Quickly, Sirius' snoring joins Peter's – gruffer, louder, more irregular, and apart from that, the castle seems to fall into silence, drift away from him as if spirited on the breeze.

Fruitlessly, he closes his eyes. Staring at his Charms homework earlier, he'd felt as if he could sleep for a hundred years, and so he wonders why now, inside his eyelids, he feels more awake, more alive, than he ever has before, sleep impossibly elusive.

He lies in the dark, looks up, and Lily dances through the shadows on the ceiling, weaving in and out, that same thrilling, terrifying smile on her face. He tries to ignore her, put her out of his mind, but suddenly it's like there's nothing else to think about.

It takes him a while to realise that the frustrated sighs he keeps hearing mean that Remus is awake too.

* * *

The common room is deserted when he gets there, not that he really expected anything else at two in the morning. He lights the fire, reaches for the cards in his pocket and opens the deck, tossing the box onto the sofa and waiting.

Remus appears on the stairs, that daft grey jumper his mum knitted him over the summer dropping to his knees, covering most of his pyjamas. He opens with a yawn, then gestures to the deck in James' hands. "Snap?" he says, and James nods, wiping at his eyes and then sliding down onto the floor, legs crossed. He deals the cards into two rough piles, and they hiss a bit as he gathers them together and hands one slightly-smoking heap to Remus.

They play, card after card after card, neither of them really caring when two eights follow each other and they both miss it. "We don't have to if you're not – " Remus stops, frowns as if he can't remember the word. "We could do something else?" he says, but James shakes his head, throws another card down.

"I'm not bothered about winning," he says. "I was just bored of staring at the ceiling."

Remus smiles faintly, which is the best he seems able to muster these days. "Me too," he says quietly, and before James can get out a question about what was keeping him up, Remus jumps in with one of his own. "Nervous about Lily and tomorrow?"

James rolls his eyes, nods a little reluctantly, because he knows how absurd it is for him to be nervous at all, let alone nervous about something he's wanted this much for this long. Remus' smile widens. "She'd be flattered if she knew," he says, and James sighs.

"I just want – " He stops, because he's not sure what he wants, if that's it at all. "I just – " The second attempt falters like the first, and Remus looks up, raising his eyebrows encouragingly.

"What?" he says.

"I don't know why she said yes," James says. "I mean I must have asked her a thousand times – "

"Oh more than that," Remus says. "Ten thousand at least."

They share a wry smile, and James almost wants to laugh, but it catches in his throat. "That's the thing though," he says quietly, and this is something he could never say to Sirius, because Sirius would never question it, would never be plagued by doubt – and he has to admit, it's something of a new feeling for him, too. "I'm not sure what changed."

Remus considers him for a moment, nods slowly, plays a card without looking. "Maybe nothing did," he says.

"Something must have, and how am I supposed to carry on doing whatever it is she likes if I don't know what that is?"

Remus doesn't answer immediately, and James lets his gaze fall back to the cards, an ace, a three, the king of spades. "Just remember it's you she said yes to."

James look up, meets Remus' gaze, puzzled as to what on earth that's supposed to mean. Of course it was him she said –

And then it strikes him with a clang that what Remus has just uttered is actually quite startlingly astute and profound.

It was _him_ she'd said yes to – not some version of him he was pretending to be for a while to win her over, not some wittier, kinder, more likeable imitation. Just him, James Potter, who bragged about how easy the Potions homework was, said quite unfair things about Hufflepuff's Quidditch tactics, and asked her out in a rather cocky fashion to hide how faint a hope it was that she'd say yes.

He grins, then is suddenly aware that Remus is watching him attentively, a slow smile – in fact, it's nearly a smirk, inching up his face. "Better?" Remus says, and James laughs.

* * *

Lily looks –

Like a whole bundle of clichés, the ones men use when there isn't a word that seems to do the woman in front of them justice. "Hi," she says, and for some reason it feels like the first word they've ever said to each other.

James swallows, and suddenly he's not nervous about appearing nervous, letting everything show, because she should know, shouldn't she, to make this real? He wants her to know that, however cocky he seemed, all the times he asked her out he meant it, wants her to see how pleased he is that she's finally agreed to give him a chance.

They decide that a walk might be nice, and as they head out of the castle and into the twilight, he's a bit amazed that though his heart is racing, something about this feels wonderfully ordinary, and there's rightness in that. The ground is solid once again beneath his feet, and as he looks at the sky, the faintest tinge of colour lingers on the horizon, and, to his amazement, seems far more vivid than it ever has before.

* * *

Remus stands in the window and watches the shadows. They're close together, almost merged, and he knows it's over. The last hope he had, faint as it always was, dwindles into nothingness, and there's something akin to a death knell in his chest, ringing out, loud and hollow.

He knows he should stop watching, turn away and find some distraction, but he can't. It's compelling; he has to know for certain, even though he knows what will happen and it'll be torment. A bit of him is probably a masochist, he thinks.

He watches the shadows as they linger, touch, aches as he imagines the scene played out by real people. Once upon a time, he knew what it was like to head out of the castle with Lily Evans, hope and uncertainty twisting in his stomach. He knew how it felt to have her look at him, consider, be interested, raking her gaze through all the dim-lit corners of his soul.

He wishes it was nobility that made him push her away, but it wasn't. It was cowardice. Afraid of what he felt, dogged by some stupid sense of inadequacy, he'd made excuses, taken everything she offered and given it back, and now –

Now she's said yes to someone who won't be afraid, and both of their worlds have spun on a word, only in totally opposite directions.

He doesn't know why he couldn't have listened to his own advice, taken the solace he'd given James about what the word _yes_ really meant, but now it's too late. He sighs and watches as their shadows dip impossibly close, no way to tell which belongs to who.

It's his own fault, he knows it is, but that's not any kind of consolation, and nor is the idiot saying that's bouncing around his head about it being better to have loved and lost than –

Her adoration, once upon a time, will have to be enough, he thinks. Now, the only time he'll get to see Lily Evans is when he lies on his back in the dark, and she dances through the shadows on the ceiling.

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**A/N: Reviewers get their choice of Marauder for shower-based activities ;).**


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